What Means the Most
by CosmicMagnolia
Summary: News, good and bad, can change a person. House and Wilson find the strength of their friendship when faced with devastating news. Strong friendship, no slash. Sweet, but not a cheer-up fic.


Not the best I've ever written, but the idea popped into my head late at night. A sweet story, but not exactly a cheer-up fic.  
Comments and criticism welcome.

Disclaimer: I don't own House or any of the characters, if I did I wouldn't be writing this stuff.  
'Come On Up to the House' is written by Tom Waits.

* * *

"Hey, House. I know you're there, its your day off. Wake up and pick up the phone.  
Hey…. HEY. Don't make me use this…  
Fine." BWEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP

Wilson figured he'd finally found an excuse to put the old airhorn he'd found to good use. If that didn't wake him up, nothing would. He was even considerate enough to wait til 1 o'clock to call- did House go into hibernation on his days off? For once, this was actually important, too. He had the day off as well, and as of that morning, also had news to give. News that would wait til later… Finally, he heard the phone get picked up out of the receiver.

"Someone had better be dead or dying."

There was a split second pause, followed by a sigh. "Just felt like brightening my day with your cheerful presence. Wanna head out somewhere? I'll even pay for lunch."

"What, no bribing or blackmail necessary? Thats the only thing that makes it fun. Besides, doesn't the dreamy oncologist have a hot date with the next potential Mrs. Wilson?"

Wilson rolled his eyes. He swore House had a honing device implanted on him somewhere. "Nope, I'm free all day. Besides, I'm beginning to suspect there's a reason she works in the psych ward." House snorted on the other end.

"Fine. You're getting yourself here, but we're using my car- No hot babe in her right mind would check out two dorks like us in a crappy sedan."

"I won't argue with that…" House laughed. "See you in 10 minutes."

* * *

"I'm telling you, the best way to kill the afternoon is playing drunken paintball."

House smirked in his friend's direction- the two had headed to a restaurant with a reputable bar, spent a few hours with good food and getting a little more than buzzed on Swedish alcohol("What the hell is this made of, syrup?!" Wilson had exclaimed while House laughed at his attempt to drink a mead-like beer) and decided, against better judgment, to walk to a paintball center and face each other in a game. It was far from Wilson's thing, but he was also far from sober.

"Yeah, says the man who just beat the hell out of his unsuspecting, drunk friend."

"Hey, you decided to go in- I wasn't gonna stop you." Wilson shook his head. A good shirt ruined, his entire body felt like it had been hit by a train… the next day- tonight, for that fact- wouldn't be fun. But, he decided to spend a day with House, and little else could be expected of his crazy comrade. He couldn't deny it was fun once he finally figured out what he was doing… it was just a simple matter of he sucked at it, and House took full advantage of that.

"So," Wilson said, stretching his arms to try and relieve the pain in his shoulders, "What to do next? Its about 6 o'clock and we're running outta daylight."

House looked at him. "I'm beginning to suspect something's up- an entire day with me, doing what I've wanted to do, and not a single clucking-hen moment from Mr. Jewish Momma. Did aliens probe your brain and dissect the part that puts you in constant worry-mode? Why didn't I get to watch? I'd have brought popcorn."

Wilson smiled. "Well, if you're that bent out of shape about doing what _you_ want to do… how about letting _me_ drive your car?" It was the unthinkable question.

House's jaw dropped. "No. No. No way. The day I let you drive that car is the day rainbow monkeys fall out of my holly-jolly ass." Wilson tried to destroy the image that wreaked havoc on his mind at that statement, and instead focused on trying to divert House's attention for just enough time... and instead just stood staring at House, just a few inches away. He stood there, silent and still…. And suddenly made a run for House's convertible. _What the hell is he doing?_ House thought to himself as he shook his head and tried to follow suit, though lately running wasn't exactly his forte. What the hell had gotten into Wilson, anyway? But, by the time House finally made it down the road to the car, Wilson had already firmly planted himself in the driver's seat, keys in the ignition, hood down.

"You stole my keys?!"

Wilson smirked. "You never figured out _why_ I kept insisting you order the drinks, did you? You had to keep getting up… "

"You're an evil son of a bitch. Hand 'em over and no one gets a surprise exam." He twirled his cane in the air and held out his free hand, waiting for the keys.

"I'm an evil son of a bitch, but I learned from the best." House smirked at that. "But, I'm here and you're not, and suffice to say I didn't drink nearly as much as you did. I'm driving this puppy tonight." At that, House did something he would never normally do- resigned. Little Jimmy was up to something, he could tell… there was some reason for all of this, and by this point he needed to figure out what was going on. Wilson had caught him in his trap.

"Fine. Once. But so help me god, if I so much as see a single scratch, my cane will be so far up your ass…"

Wilson grinned and turned on the engine. "Well then get in, or leave me to my own devices with your car."

And they started off, roof down, driving through the night as the sky grew slowly darker and the moon became a gleaming beacon in an almost cloudless sky. Wilson couldn't help but stare up for a few seconds now and then. It was a very beautiful night.  
House watched Wilson as he drove, making sure the man didn't take his eyes off the road in _his_ car for more than 2 seconds. He still wondered why the day had unfolded the way it had- they spent the whole day together, and now were heading back to House's apartment. He may not have had anything better to do, but he knew Wilson almost definitely did. Neither of them had very many friends, but Wilson had places to go, people to date, bald cancer kids to care for… he actually had some semblance of a life. Why spend the entire day of your _only_ day off with one random person?

"Sooo… whats the meaning behind all this, Jimmy?"

Wilson gave him a puzzled look. "Meaning?"

"There's something going on- a reason for today. I can sense it with my magical heat-seeking radar that foils every dumb little plot you have on me."

"So its impossible that I just felt like hanging out with you today?"

"No, but it's pretty unlikely." Wilson sighed, annoyed, of course amusing House.

"I… have something to tell you. Its waiting til later though… its not the best news."

"No marriage proposal? But I've been so willing to accept for years!" House looked at Wilson with eyes wide in mock hope, his hands folded together under his chin. Wilson rolled his eyes , but couldn't hide the laugh, and drove on. After a time of just driving on in agreeable silence, they made it back to House's place. Getting in, they agreed on ordering pizza, getting a bit more to drink for the fun of it, and watching random movies. A regular thing with them that never really seemed to grow old. House had an enormous collection of films, from old silent movies up to the most recent, award-winners and hysterically bad B-movies, and even if there was nothing among that gargantuan list there was still whatever could be found on t.v.

"If we can't find anything worthwhile, we can always head to the wonderful train-wreck that is Bill O'Reilly." House commented as he moved around the couch.

"Oh god… my head would explode. Alcohol and The O'Reilly Factor don't mix. Off-key, annoying political banter just has no place anywhere… at all…" Wilson was getting tired, but figured it would be worthwhile to stay awhile longer. If nothing else, he could just pass out on the couch. He remembered why he was there, and remembered the news… the way the morning had unfolded for him and the anxiety of having to share it… not just with one person now, but soon with hundreds… he still let it go. Let there be one more fun moment. Eventually the two of them settled in, found something worthy of testing their MST skills on, and began the night.

* * *

Hours later, after 2 Hitchcock films(Wilson had forced House through them), 'Arsenic and Old Lace(bizarrely enough, House's favorite movie) and a few rounds of pizza and scotch, the men found themselves in a quiet daze again. Talking now and again about random things, the hospital, House making commentary on the staff that Wilson couldn't help but laugh at for the sheer wrongness of it all, they had settled into a peace close friends tend to find among each other. Even if nothing is being said at all, its perfectly fine to just sit there.

Eventually House got up and slowly made his way to the piano. That thing was practically an extension of his body, and Wilson was fairly sure House would play with the skills of a concert pianist even if he were completely tanked. Just prop him up and put his hands on the keys, the rest will come on its own. Wilson chuckled at the thought. House ran his fingers over the keys for a second, noodled around with different sounds, and eventually began to play a soft, jazz-twinged tune. Wilson was quite surprised to hear House playing with someone around him as it was, but _singing_ was what caught him off-guard. _Since when does House sing…._

_Well the moon is broken, and the sky is cracked  
__Come on up to the house  
__The only things that you can see is all that you lack  
__Come on up to the House  
__All your cryin' don't do no good  
__Come on up to the house  
__Come down off the cross, we can use the wood  
__Come on up to the house…_

Wilson even recognized the song… it was Tom Waits. He remembered the man's music enchanted him from the first few notes of 'Grapefruit Moon.' He was a musical genius, and such a bizarre and incredible voice- it sounded like it got run over by a truck and set in a smokehouse, but his songs were mesmerizing and heartbreakingly beautiful. House was no Tom Waits, but he did do the song justice, which is more than most people could probably say.

_There's no light in the tunnel, no irons in the fire  
__Come on up to the house  
__And you're singing lead soprano in a junkman's choir  
__Come on up to the house…  
__Does life seem nasty, brutish and short?  
__Come on up to the house…  
__The seas are stormy, and you can't find no port  
__Come on up to the house…_

Wilson found himself listening intently to the song, almost finding a connection to it and what he was currently dealing with. The effects music can have on people… he found himself thinking back to his brother's funeral. That was one time where he honestly felt it wasn't worth it to keep going… life was too cruel to let innocent, kind people die horrible deaths, meanwhile atrocities to mankind walk the earth forever. It had torn everyone in his family to pieces… why did it have to happen again? Why did his family have to endure that grief again? Why would he have to suffer again? Why do these things happen… questions he asked himself off-hand when he had to deal with terminal patients, but it had never quite clicked this way before… this time it was much more personal. And this time there was almost no hope, few options… all the people that would be left behind.

_There's nothing in the world that you can do  
__Come on up to the house  
__And you've been whipped by the forces that are inside you  
__Come on up to the house…_

At that small stanza, Wilson began to cry. He listened to his friend play and sing, and finally let the tears he hadn't let go earlier in the day come out. He couldn't do anything about it. For once, it was certain how things were going to turn out…. And that was horrifying.  
House kept playing til the song was over, and sat a little while, playing a little with the piano til he finally heard a strange sound from behind him. He was a bit shocked to see his friend on the couch, sobbing. _He's definitely had too much to drink… even I've never gotten that bad… _House went over to his friend and slid the alcohol away from him. "You went a bit overboard, Jimmy my boy. Tell me when the pink elephants go for a landing."

"House…" Wilson was trying to keep composure long enough to at least say one thing.  
"House, I'm going to die."

Disturbed by the random outburst, House didn't really know how to respond. He went with the safest response. "No… you won't die. You'll just be _horrendously_ hung-over tomorrow morning, frighten your patients and deal with Cuddy's all-consuming wrath. Welcome to my life." Those words of wisdom didn't seem to do his friend much good. He still looked like he was on the verge of a breakdown, and though he hated to admit it, that scared House. Did he really think he was going to die?

Wilson took a deep, hitching breath, and attempted to explain. "House, I h-have pancreatic cancer. I didn't… I didn't think anything was wrong. B-but I finally got checked out… and… and it's bad. They don't th-think there's much they can do." Wilson gave up and let the tears begin again. "I'm going to die, House."

For possibly the first time in his life, House was completely and utterly speechless. He wasn't sure whether it was the drink talking, or if Wilson was being serious. How does an oncologist get cancer and not fucking notice? The symptoms of pancreatic cancer are fairly commonplace ailments, but for the head of oncology to not suspect anything after awhile is a little ridiculous. He felt anger welling up at Wilson for being so stupid and careless, but the sad sight next to him, for once, kept it from coming out. He couldn't really find it in him to yell at his crying friend about being an idiot.

"How long have you known?" was the only thing he could think to say.

"This morning." _That's the reason behind all this…_ House had his answer- but for once, he wasn't all that pleased with the knowledge.

"I'm sorry." And he sincerely meant it. The pain was evident in his voice, even if his expression and posture remained stoic. He was sorry Wilson had to deal with this. He was sorry his friend might be dying. It still hadn't fully kicked in yet, though, and he honestly didn't know what to do in this situation… there was only one gesture he could think of, and so he put his hand on his friend's shoulder. Wilson was grateful for even that gesture from House. He knew the man was not one for kind gestures or physical contact, but he didn't care- House was his best friend, and you are supposed to find comfort in your best friend. Feeling House's hand on his shoulder, Wilson moved over and wrapped House in a tight hug. He felt House stiffen, but he did nothing to push Wilson away or get out of his grasp. After a few moments, Wilson felt House loosely put his arms around him, as well. It wasn't much, but from House the gesture was monumental. Wilson knew he wouldn't actually _hug_ anyone else. He tightened his grip for a second, the thought of leaving his friend bringing tears back to his eyes.

"I agreed to a hug, not a shower." Wilson tried to laugh, but it wouldn't come. House broke the strange hug, but kept one hand on his friend's shoulder. House finally decided it would be best to say something… to finally help Wilson, for once.

"I'll be here for you. You can call me anytime… just so you know."

Wilson finally regained his composure. "Thanks."

"You should stay here… no way are you in a condition to drive. You're still loaded and your eyes are redder than a damn stoner's." Wilson shook his head and smiled. This was House's way of caring for 

him- the couch was always open. House cleaned up the boxes and bottles and brought out a blanket for Wilson to use. Before he turned and walked into his own bedroom, he looked at his friend.

"I'm sorry, Wilson. I really am. I wish there was anything I could do…" Wilson smiled sadly at him. "Will you agree to at least try treatment? You never know what might work."

"I'll try, House." It would be in vain, but it would make everyone feel better to know an effort had been made to get help.

House looked at the floor before mumbling, "I couldn't live without you, Jimmy." Wilson sat truly touched. House really cared about him that much- something he'd always known, yet never really had any evidence of up until this point. He got up and decided to take the risk of hugging House one more time. He openly accepted it this time.

"I wouldn't leave you, either." He moved back over to the couch as House shuffled down the hall.

"Goodnight, House."

"Goodnight, Wilson."


End file.
